


Wednesday Is Full Of Woe

by darkandgritty



Category: Little House on the Prairie (TV), Little House on the Prairie - Laura Ingalls Wilder
Genre: Abuse, D/s relationship, Domestic Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandgritty/pseuds/darkandgritty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One of his hands remained gripping onto my hip, and the other clenched around my wrist.  His words frightened me.  'Never push me away, Caroline.  You are to be my wife.  You will never make such a mistake again, do you understand?'  -  May ruin your childhood.  Pre-children Ingalls Couple.  M!  Misogynstic Charles, with some D/s learnings and a heavy side of domestic abuse.  Dark.  So dark.  They will eventually evolve into the characters you know and love, but I think it's more fascinating if they didn't start in the relationship we are familiar with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wednesday Is Full Of Woe

" Monday's child is fair of face,  
Tuesday's child is full of grace,  
Wednesday's child is full of woe,  
Thursday's child has far to go,  
Friday's child is loving and giving,  
Saturday's child works hard for a living,  
But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day  
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay "

 

The Diary of Caroline.

February 1st, 1860.

I received this beautiful diary from my Mother this morning. She told me it was a gift, just for me, on the day of my wedding, and that I should use it to record all of my thoughts. She recommended hiding it deep in the Hope chest, beneath the embroidered linens and Bible that I would bring with me as I settle into my new life. My Husband will not need to know what I wrote, she told me, but that it would be for me. She said women need to write down their thought when they become a wife, to help them along their path. So they don't lose themselves along the way. I shall endeavor to share my feelings, for her sake. She loves my Stepfather, and from what I can recall loved my Father. If she is certain of a few written words charting the course for my future, what do I have to lose in trying?

This afternoon I will become Mrs. Caroline Ingalls. As a girl, when I used to dream of this day, I never thought it would look like this. Not on a Wednesday, to a man who does not profess to love me. He has not been a man of many words, in our short engagement, but the iron in his voice, and the finality in his tone when he has decided he has had enough of a topic leave me wondering what kind of a man am I to wed?

Debts can gather at the feet of even the best families, and what is a woman in this world but her dowry. Few men would be willing to take a woman of my age with so little, but my fiance had decided to take me, with only my Hope Chest, my linens, and my dreams. Nary a cent, or a chicken else to my name. I wonder at the world when I think of the women who never find a husband, due to being born to families poorer then mine. And other circumstances, beyond our control Without us, there would be no gateway for life. I have never had a place to voice these thoughts before, and it's more freeing then I would have expected.

So often, things like that surprise us. I had fallen into the role of teacher, at the local school, and though wary at first, wondering if I would have the discipline to accomplish anything at all, I was delighted to find teaching was my true calling, and I blossomed under my new title.

After finding more satisfaction then I could have imagined, teaching for the last two semesters, I was content with my lot as an old maid, trusted to help shape and cultivate the education of our little community of Concord, Wisconsin. I have many brothers and sisters, and was always happy to be their favorite aunt, reading them stories, and singing them lullabies. Occasionally I found myself yearning for romance, and the family that came with it. I taught, and did what I could to provide for my parents and younger siblings, living a quiet, but fulfilling life. I hadn't known at the end of classes for Christmas break, that it would be my last time teaching in a classroom. I also didn't know then, that Charles Ingalls had set his sights on me. 

I had moved away from my parents home, and settled myself and my few possessions into the little attached room to the schoolhouse where I taught. It had been used by Mister Simon Wright, the previous teacher. The room still smells of pipe smoke, despite my best efforts to air it out, wash it away and mask it with flowers. That room is the only part of my previous life that I am eager to part with.

I keep thinking of the way that Charles looked at me last night after the supper my Mother had prepared, hosting a large gathering for the two of us, our siblings and our parents respectively. And the way he had hurt me. Charles had told me that there would be no wedding celebration after the documents were signed., "Parties like that are vulgar. I won't display you to the town. You are mine, and we will have better things to do." It had left me unsettled, but not in anywhere near the same way last nights interaction had. 

He took me by the arm, after giving his thanks to my parents and led me to the porch. I did find myself noticing over supper, that when he smiled, and it suited him to be kind, he was very handsome. His stern features softened, when he allowed them, and I found myself drawn to watching him, neglecting my meal. 

We had shared a toast to our futures together, and as our various family members left, or retired for the evening, we found ourselves alone for the first time, without the light of the sun to illuminate our conversation. 

He kissed me. It wasn't like the kisses I had shared with the men I've allowed that honor over the years. He held me, his muscles straining under the white cotton of his button up shirt, pulling me close to him. I confess that the kiss awakened something inside of me that I can only describe from what I have read, and witnessed in my twenty one years to be passion.

When he broke the kiss, I was dizzy from the emotions and feelings it conjured. Rendered speechless, I stood like a statue as his broad hands began to take liberties, moving up and down my waist before clenching at my hips. I found the resolve in myself to attempt to push him away, murmuring his name in warning. 

Before I knew what had happened, I was pressed against the wooden logs of our house, the breath knocked out of me by the force with which I had hit the building. One of his hands remained gripping onto my hip, and the other clenched around my wrist. His words frightened me. "Never push me away, Caroline. You are to be my wife. You will never make such a mistake again, do you understand?" His eyes held something dark that I hadn't noticed before, and his voice reminded me of a newly sharpened knife. I only nodded my agreement, my voice still gone, my breath still not quite what it was, before he released me, giving a chaste kiss to my cheek that made me wonder several times through the night as I searched for sleep if I had imagined what happened.

This morning, I noticed after my bath, as I began to dress, that my back was sore, where I had hit the wall. With some difficulty I was able to angle myself to look at the angry purple bruise that proved that what happened on the porch was not a figment of my imagination. I dressed quickly in my under things, and with my dressing robe covering me Mother had not noticed the mark, thankfully, when she had come to greet me and present me with the gift I am now writing in. I am not sure how she would have reacted, had she been able to see the bruise but I am glad that I was not forced to find out.

There are many things I should be doing to prepare for the wedding. In truth, my hair is still damp from my bath, and I doubt that any amount of pins, or irons could tame it, and I could not resist the opportunity to write one last time as a Quiner.

I pray that the glimmers of violence that Charles has shown me will not be the entirety of my future. My Mother had an uncomfortable talk about what to expect tonight, and I am not looking forward to it. Perhaps it will be more like that kiss, and less like the encounter that followed, but I doubt it. Not with my Mother's descriptions of bloody sheets, and enduring during my wifely duties. 

I have lingered as long as I dare. The clock keeps ticking, and soon I will need to present myself downstairs to my groom, and accompany him by carriage to our future. Why does it feel me with such dread?

It is strange to think that the next time I open this book, and add a new entry it will be as a Wife. I hope I am up to the task. 

Caroline Quiner  
(For the last time.)


End file.
